


Nothing But Trouble

by mongoose_bite



Series: Dyce the Incredibly Easy Breton [14]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Hair-pulling, M/M, Not Incest, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 18:52:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mongoose_bite/pseuds/mongoose_bite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The monster party was fun and all, but Dyce has unfinished  business in Jorrvarskr, the first of which being getting himself up off the floor. Luckily, Farkas is there to help, but he has a request to make in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Trouble

The fire was dying. The others had left for their bunks but Dyce had been too exhausted to move. He knew he’d have to sooner or later, however, or he’d freeze. He heard a door open, and then heavy footsteps. He tilted his head back as they approached, and saw Farkas, armourless and empty handed.

“Are you all right?” He knelt down beside Dyce, a worried expression on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dyce smiled. “Just a little bit exhausted. Wow. The Companions are amazing.”

Farkas frowned, apparently not convinced. “Let me help you up.”

“Thanks.” Dyce raised a hand but rather than grabbing it, Farkas put one arm around his shoulders and stood him up. He stumbled against Farkas, his legs stiff and bruised and somewhat sore. Farkas steadied him and bent down to, put his other arm under Dyce’s knees and lifted him off the floor, with apparently little effort.

Dyce laughed, “Hey, you don’t have to do that. I’m filthy.”

“I know.” Farkas didn’t set him down. Dyce didn’t fight it; Farkas’s arms were warm, and if he wanted carry him around Dyce wasn’t going to argue. Instead he relaxed and let his head loll back.

“My gear’s all over the floor,” Dyce said, as Farkas carried him out.

“Don’t worry about it.” Pause. “The Companions aren’t thieves.”

“Oh, ouch.” Dyce said. “Where are we going, anyway?”

Farkas didn’t answer him, but instead nudged the door to the bathing area open with Dyce’s feet.

“Hold still,” he said, as he put him down.

“Yes, all right, I can probably- jfkkkaaaa!” Dyce completely lost the power of speech as Farkas picked up a bucket of icy water and dumped it over his head. The Breton could only stand there gasping for a few moments as Farkas readied another bucket.

“What do you think you’re doing? Hey-” Dyce tried to duck out of the way and Farkas doused him again and he yelped. “Dammit! Divines- your punishments are much worse than Vilkas’s,” he said trying to stop his jaw from chattering and wring out his hair.

“Stop complaining. Sit down.” Farkas put a hand on his head to emphasise his point and Dyce perched on a low stool and tried to rub the goosebumps off his biceps. He flinched, expecting more water, but Farkas pulled up a seat of his own and started rubbing sload soap through Dyce’s hair.

He wasn’t terribly gentle, but he wasn’t cruel either, and Dyce took the opportunity to clean up the rest of him, scrubbing down his face and chest.

“Were you really stealing?” Farkas asked. Somewhere outside in the predawn light, a rooster crowed.

“Yeah.” Dyce snorted, “You don’t think I’d have stood for any of that if I’d been innocent, would you? It was fun and all but it would have offended my sense of justice.”

“What did you take?” Farkas’s voice seemed to be getting quieter.

“Oh, money. About fifteen septims.”

“Fifteen septims? If you needed it that badly you could have asked-”

“I didn’t need the fifteen septims. I mean, I did. I do. But I need more than that.” Dyce shrugged, “It’s just money. It doesn’t really belong to anyone.”

“Yes it does.” Farkas tugged on his hair with irritation. “If you need the money you should do some jobs.”

“You sound like your brother.”

“Sorry.”

Dyce chuckled, “It’s not a criticism. He’s a good person. I just don’t think he likes me.”

Farkas was silent for a little while. “I still like you,” he said eventually.

Dyce looked over his shoulder at him, and smiled. He flicked his gaze up and down Farkas’s broad, solid body appreciatively. There was no way he had another fuck in him tonight, but he didn’t just want to let the admission lie there, and while Farkas wasn’t about to burst the seams on his pants, he wasn’t entirely unappreciative of the view either, as far as Dyce could see.

Dyce reached out and put a hand on the Nord’s muscled leg and raised his eyebrows. Just a friendly hand. Farkas covered his hand with his own and shook his head.

“I think you’ve done enough for tonight.”

Dyce knew good advice when he heard it. “You may be right.”

Farkas let go of his hand and got to his feet and Dyce resigned himself as another pail full of water crashed down over his head. Extremely cold but very clean, Dyce dried himself off on what passed for towels in Skyrim; in any other province they would have been called bedsheets.

Farkas returned with some of Dyce’s clothes, pants and an undershirt at least. Dyce put them on and yawned; he was dead on his feet.

“You don’t have to stay in the bunks,” Farkas said, leading him to his room.

Dyce halted, “Farkas.” He passed a hand over his eyes, marshalling what brainpower he had left, “Can you just clarify what you’re doing exactly?”

“I’m looking after you,” he growled.

“Did you look after Torvar as well after his monster party?” Dyce asked.

“No.”

“So why are you making a fuss over me?”

Farkas turned and looked at him, then at the floor. Dyce could see he was struggling manfully to come up with something diplomatic, and he didn’t have time for it because knowing Farkas it could take hours.

“Spit it out!” he said with some irritation.

“You’re so small.”

Dyce’s eyebrows shot up and he folded his arms. “What? You dumped cold water over me what do you expect? I assure you under normal circumstances-”

“I don’t mean your prick!” he hissed, trying to keep his voice down. “I mean, you’re a Breton and you’re just, not tall. And you know it sounded kind of rough out there and I’m not very good with words.” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.

Dyce regarded him with tired amusement. “They were all very nice, don’t worry. Well, it doesn’t matter. Thank you for looking after me.” He wasn’t going to turn down a private room and he stepped past Farkas and into his bedroom.

It smelled like animal pelts and leather and oil and pine and mead and smoke; distilled Nord, right there. Dyce didn’t care about the furnishings, he barely noticed them as he made a beeline for the bed and crawled under the furs.

“It doesn’t matter if you did steal,” Farkas said, sitting on the other side of the bed, his hands on his knees. “He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have.”

“Why not?” Dyce asked drowsily. “It was fun.”

“You could have been hurt. He should have stayed to make sure. Aela and Skjor-”

Dyce opened one eye, “What about them?”

Farkas glanced down at him, troubled. “They, they don’t always reign in their instincts. They’re not bad it’s just that they could have got carried away.”

“You’re not making a lot of sense,” Dyce grumbled.

“I know. At least nothing bad happened.”

Dyce sighed and settled down to sleep.

“About Vilkas.”

Dyce groaned, by now starting to regret taking up the offer of the bed. “Now what?”

“This is serious! Just, just be kind to him, would you? Don’t hurt him.”

“Huh?”

“He’s not as tough as he acts. As he thinks he has to act. He’s my brother, and if anyone hurts him they have to deal with me, you got it?”

“Sure, whatever, I’ll sing him lullabies. Can I sleep now?”

Farkas sighed and patted Dyce’s head, his hand resting on his sun-streaked hair a moment. “Rest well, my friend.”

The day was just beginning and Farkas left to start work. When he came back night was approaching, and Dyce had taken all his gear and gone. Farkas hesitated and checked the coins he’d left in the bedside table; all were still there.

“All right, presents!”

Dyce strolled into Jorrvaskr a few days later, a selection of wolf pelts over his shoulder. He’d been travelling; there was mud on his boots and he’d slept in his armour. He spotted Aela and dumped the pelts down in front of her.

“There you go; pest control finished.”

Most of the Companions were sitting around the dining hall, now back to the way it was before the monster party, and Aela fingered one of the pelts and raised her eyebrows at Vilkas.

“Oh yeah, got this too.” Dyce wasn’t done yet. He pulled an old iron axe from his belt and embedded it in the table in front of Farkas, who grinned at him. “Retrieved from that wretched cave as ordered. Any chance of some pay?”

“Took you long enough,” Skjor said. “I have a job for you.”

“So I’m not getting paid?” Dyce asked. Skjor glared at him and he shut up and followed him out of the room. Skjor explained that Dyce needed to locate a fragment of an ancient axe from a tomb. Dyce scribbled this down hastily in his battered journal, adding the location of the tomb to his map.

“Farkas will go with you as your shield-sibling.”

“Uh. I normally like to work alone.”

“This is your trial. If you conduct yourself with honour, you will become a fully-fledged member of the Companions.”

“Well,” Dyce grinned. “It could be worse, it could be Vilkas.”

Dyce went to find Farkas, but it was the other twin in he ran into in the corridor.

“Ah, have you seen Farkas? I’m supposed to take him with me,” Dyce explained.

“I know,” Vilkas growled. He turned his head, making sure they were unobserved, and then he grabbed Dyce by the front of his jerkin and slammed him up against the stone wall. Dyce was obliged to stand on his toes as Vilkas eyeballed him.

“Now listen here,” he said softly, little more than a whisper across Dyce’s face. “You are nothing but trouble. If you hurt Farkas, either his heart or in battle, I will _end_ you.”

“Whaat?” Dyce was awfully tempted to tell Vilkas that Farkas had told him pretty much the same thing. Instead he looked into those icy eyes and nodded, “Noted.” Then he craned his neck forward and pressed his lips firmly to Vilkas’s.

Vilkas recoiled, his grip on Dyce’s leather’s loosening and Dyce slipped free and darted away.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” he said with a cheerful wave.

Vilkas ground his teeth.

~~~

Dyce and Farkas set out on foot from Whiterun. For once it wasn’t raining, and although the air was crisp the sun was shining, and Dyce wasn’t in any particular hurry. Farkas didn’t object either when they diverted to hunt and skin some wolves. Such was their tardiness that they arrived at the tomb on nightfall, and they camped just outside.

Dyce thought about offering to share his bedroll, but Farkas had unrolled his and stretched out on it by the time Dyce had decided which bit of ground was the least damp and hard.

Dyce was not afraid of draugr, and they made good progress until their way was barred by an iron door.

Farkas scratched his head.

“Well, you’re the smart one, see if you can get this open.”

“Can’t be that difficult - look, there’s a lever over here. Piece of cake.” Dyce pulled the lever and a steel grate dropped, sealing him in a small chamber.

Farkas took one look at his face and burst out laughing, “You’re certainly the smart one.”

“Yeah yeah, very funny, big guy. Get me out of here.”

Farkas admired him for a moment and still chuckling went to look for a solution. He fell silent, however, at the sounds of running feet. He drew his sword as Dyce peered through the grate, trying to see what was going on.

He got an excellent view of a dozen heavily-armed people, of various races, who quickly surrounded Farkas, weapons drawn. Oddly enough, they seemed to know him, or at least his armour.

“Dammit, get me out of here!” Dyce drew his bow and nocked an arrow, but he wouldn’t be much help with the iron bars blocking his view. He might get a few lucky shots in.

Farkas backed up against the grate, and he looked over his shoulder at Dyce briefly before turning back to the mob. “I’ll slaughter you all!”

Farkas’s sword fell from his fingers and his armour followed as he started sprouting dark, shaggy hair, and long claws.

“Fuck,” Dyce said softly, as the Nord grew at least another foot in height, threw back a long, canine head, and howled.

Dyce stepped away as an orc was flung against the iron door. He heard his neck break. Farkas - or the beast that had been Farkas - was unstoppable. He shrugged off blows like they were the bites of gnats, and raked claws like daggers through armour and skin, swatting the attackers aside.

And then they were all dead, and silence descended. Farkas padded off, and a few moments later, the grate that was trapping Dyce winched back into the ceiling. Farkas came back into view, naked, streaked with blood, and appearing entirely human once again. Dyce didn’t lower his bow, and the tip of the arrow didn’t waver as he aimed it between Farkas’s eyes.

Farkas regarded him calmly, “Did I scare you?”

“Yeah, just a little. What in Oblivion is going on?”

“We’re granted the ferocity of a beast in battle.”

“We’re? You mean the Companions are all werewolves?”

“No, only the circle carry the beast-blood. Don’t worry. It’s supposed to be a secret, but it’s too late now.” He stood there, non-threatening, hands empty.

Dyce lowered his bow and released the tension on the string.

“Well, I suppose it was lucky then. You were pretty badly outnumbered.” Now that he wasn’t aiming a bow, Dyce allowed his gaze to wander. “You should, uh, probably put some pants on.” Damn, he was a monster even without the werewolf blood.

Farkas chuckled. Dyce stood guard while he got dressed again.

“Who were those guys anyway?” Dyce asked.

“Bad people who hate werewolves. There’ll be more of ‘em.”

And there were. Many more. And draugr too. They stumbled on through the bowels of the earth for hours. They pushed their way through a spider cave, and then they halted for something to eat.

Dyce leaned his head against the wall and yawned. “I bet it’s tomorrow already.”

“We should have a rest,” Farkas said. “It’s only going to get worse.”

“Is that safe?” Dyce asked.

Farkas nodded, “Werewolves don’t sleep well or deeply. I’ll wake up if I hear anything.”

Dyce pulled cobwebs out of his hair, while Farkas made himself comfortable, sitting against the wall, his arms around his sword. He looked at Dyce from under his hair, and then dropped his gaze a bit sadly.

Dyce sighed. “I trust you.” He moved over and rested his head on Farkas’s arm.

It wasn’t easy to sleep and Dyce didn’t manage to snatch more than a couple of hours before they decided to keep moving.

“Surely we’re near the end,” Dyce groaned.

They were near the end, and in that final chamber, a veritable army of draugr awaited them. Dyce’s jaw dropped.

“We are in trouble,” he muttered. He drew his bow. He loosed the arrows as fast as he could draw the string as the creatures stumbled to attack Farkas, who stood in front of him, absorbing most of their fury. Dyce barely took time to aim; he didn’t need to. He could be almost guaranteed of hitting a tough, leathery body.

The numbers thinned, and then the pair chased them to the far corners of the room, executing them. Dyce’s last few arrows rattled in his quiver, and Farkas was battered and dripping with sweat and blood.

“By Ysgramor, I thought there would be no end to them.”

“Yeah.” Dyce sat on a broken sarcophagus to catch his breath. “I gotta admit, Farkas, I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Farkas shrugged, “You would have found a way.”

Dyce circled the room, retrieving any arrows that remained whole, and when they picked up the fragment of Wuuthrad he needed them.

“How many times do we have to kill them?” he snarled through his teeth, while he stood on a table, loosing arrows above Farkas’s head, softening the horde up as it broke over them.

When silence fell, Dyce hurried to the exit. “Hang the arrows,” he said. “I can always make more. I’m not waiting around for them to get back up again.” Farkas didn’t argue, he sheathed his sword and followed him out.

It was night when they climbed back up into open air, but it was no dark. The aurora shimmered above them, from horizon to horizon, almost light enough to see by, luminous green reflecting eerily off the streams and ponds of the Whiterun plains before them.

“Wow,” Dyce said softly. “What is _that_? Is it magic?”

“I dunno,” Farkas said. “You’ve never seen it before?”

“I haven’t been in Skyrim that long. I’m glad we survived that to see this.” He stretched and glanced at Farkas. “You know, it would be a real shame to waste this moment.”

Even in the gloom, he could see the gleam of white teeth as Farkas smiled. “What did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Oh, I think you know.”

He leaned up and kissed him, and after a moment Farkas kissed him back, wrapping his arms around Dyce and pressing him to his armoured chest. Dyce wasn’t expecting quite this much enthusiasm, but he didn’t object, pressing his hand to the back of Farkas’s neck, deepening the kiss. Despite all the grave-muck that encrusted his armour, Dyce could smell and feel the heat of the Nord beneath. He was disappointed when they broke apart.

“We should start heading back,” Farkas suggested. Visions of warm mead and roaring fires and soft furs swam through Dyce’s head, and despite the fact that Farkas had slipped his grasp again, he didn’t object.

They started hiking back, keeping a sharp eye out in the darkness, angling north to avoid a giant camp.

“Vilkas warned me not to hurt you,” Dyce said, as they crested a small rise.

“Huh. I know you better than he does,” Farkas said.

“So this werewolf thing, it’s really not such a big deal?”

“It is to some people.”

“But not you. You don’t see a downside?”

“I fight with beast beside me, makes me strong.”

“You don’t worry you’ll hurt someone by accident?”

Farkas was silent for a while. “Skjor and Aela, they let the beast have its head, and worry about the consequences later. Vilkas keeps his on a short leash, and it makes him cranky. I think they’re all idiots. It’s a beast; it can be trained.”

“Huh.”

“Maybe I’m the idiot, maybe I’m missing something. Vilkas was always the one with the smarts. He could see something I don’t.”

“I think you underestimate yourself,” Dyce said. “And they underestimate you. Maybe you don’t know much history, but I think you _get_ people.”

“So do you.” Farkas was a few steps in front of Dyce, and he halted, obliging Dyce to do the same. “Do you want to make camp?”

Dyce raised his eyebrows, “Here?”

“Yeah.” Farkas turned to look at him, the breeze ruffling his hair and the fur trim on his armour. They look at each other, and despite the clear and spectacular skies, there was lightning in the air.

“Yeah.”

Without taking his eyes off Dyce, he shrugged off his pack, and the sword followed next. Then his gloves. He stepped forward, starting on his breastplate.

“No bedroll?” Dyce asked.

“Nah.” Farkas grinned and tugged meaningfully at Dyce’s leather armour.

Dyce got the hint. “It’s quite brisk out here, I trust you’ve got a plan for keeping warm.” Dyce’s armour came off the way it usually did, easily and with the minimum of fuss. He’d just taken his boots off when Farkas blundered into him, and they tumbled to the ground in an unimpressive heap. Farkas rained down enthusiastic, slightly sloppy kisses all over Dyces’ face. He was still wearing his pants, but Dyce could feel the cock in them sliding against his stomach, threatening to tear the seam.

“That really doesn’t seem comfortable,” he muttered, while Farkas made enthusiastic noises against his stubble. He started undoing Farkas’s belt; it seemed to be a matter of some urgency, and when he managed to pop the top button beneath it, Farkas pulled back.

“I want to fuck you,” Farkas said, like it was a confession.

“Uh, yeah. I can’t wait.”

“I mean, it’s just. Mostly I get told I’m too big,” he mumbled. “Look.” He sat up on his knees and pulled his cock out of his pants. Dyce had seen it earlier, and it had been impressive then, but now the word that skittered across his mind was monumental. Farkas didn’t exactly look proud, however. “Do you really think you can take this?”

“We won’t find out until we try.”

“Are you sure?”

“You’ll stop if I ask you to. So don’t worry.” Dyce was still staring at it. “Just don’t let me come first, all right? I take it better when I’m desperate.”

“Gods,” Farkas breathed, looking a bit awestruck. Before Dyce could ask for an explanation he was on him again, his teeth at his collarbone, his huge, calloused hands tugging first at Dyce’s pants and then at his own. There was so much sheer heat radiating from him.

Dyce looked up at the glowing sky, running his fingers along old scars on Farkas’s shoulders and chest. Farkas had taken his advice seriously, for aside from one exploratory squeeze when he’d first shimmied out of his pants, the Nord didn’t touch his cock. Dyce was convinced it was going to be worth it.

Eventually Farkas gave him a breathing space and Dyce rolled over in the dirt to search through his pack.

“So you’ve never done this before?” Dyce asked.

“Not from this side,” Farkas said.

Dyce tossed him the bottle, “Then you know what to do. Give me a show, I want to see what you do when you’re by yourself.”

Farkas nodded and started spreading the oil down the length of his cock. Then he stroked back up, his balls hitching a bit higher as he pulled, squeezing the head. He exhaled, breathy and excited and Dyce scraped a tooth across his lower lip as he watched the show.

“Gods at this rate I’m going to come just watching you,” he groaned.

“Should I stop?” Farkas asked, his hand stilling.

Dyce smirked at him, “I think you should start, actually.”

He propped himself up on his elbows as Farkas went for the oil again, and draped a leg over Farkas’s shoulder. Farkas was gentle almost to a fault, and Dyce encouraged him to push harder, work his fingers in deeper. Dyce groaned and rolled his hips, and beckoned Farkas closer.

“Come on, give it a try.”

Farkas nodded, and edged forward, and Dyce took a deep breath as he felt the tip of the Nord’s cock press against him.

It stung and it felt raw, and Farkas stopped, every inch of the way, pausing to lightly touch Dyce’s cock with his fingertips, making it jump and the Breton’s breath hitch. Dyce curled his fingers into the soil from the effort of not touching himself.

“Please,” he muttered. “Fuck me, fuck me.”

Farkas halted, his jaw hanging in surprise and lust. He stroked Dyce’s chest, his neck, his face, and then bent down and kissed him. Dyce had to admit part of him was glad there wasn’t any more of Farkas to take.

“It’s amazing, it’s amazing,” Farkas assured him. “I just, I can’t-” he started moving his hips, and Dyce moved with him, teetering on the edge of coming each time the end of his cock butted against his stomach.

Farkas grunted and gasped and impossibly seemed to get bigger, and then he came, his hair brushing Dyce’s chest as he curled over him, one huge fist tangled in Dyce’s hair. He shuddered, and thrust again, and finally relaxed.

Without warning, Farkas reached down and started pumping Dyce’s cock. Dyce wasn’t expecting it and he came almost instantly, shouting loud enough that the giants probably heard him. Farkas made a ‘gnarfl!’ sound and when he raised his head, he was wearing a surprised expression and a full load of Dyce’s come on his face.

Dyce could only shake his head and wait for his breath and his voice to return. What had he expected, really?

Farkas eased himself out and crawled up alongside Dyce. “That was... thank you.” He embraced him in a grateful hug. Dyce shivered as he started to cool down.

Farkas sat up and lit a torch and they collected their gear, slowly and sleepily.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

“No, no you did not.”

“You know, my brother.”

“Oh, here we go again. Yes, I know your brother.”

“I think you could help him,” Farkas said seriously. “You’re a good person.”

“Help him what?”

“Take the stick out of his arse. Or something similar. He needs to unwind or somethin’. Have some fun.”

Dyce shrugged, “Well, I’m not saying that’s a bad idea, but I’m not sure he’d accept that kind of help from me.”

“He likes you,” Farkas said quietly, and refused to be drawn further on the subject. Setting up camp seemed like more work than just walking back to Whiterun, and the arrived back as the sun was rising.

They arrived back in Whiterun tired and dirty and grass-stained and all smiles. The other members of the circle assembled out behind Jorrvaskr, and Farkas vouched for Dyce so enthusiastically he was faintly embarrassed.

Kodlak welcomed him into the Companions as the sun was rising, and it occurred to Dyce that he was the only human there. It wasn’t entirely a pleasant feeling, despite the fact that everyone, even Vilkas, seemed satisfied with his performance. Dyce had never fought a werewolf, and he honestly had no idea how he’d fare against one if he had to.

It was a firm reminder that he was no longer in Highrock, and that things were very different in Skyrim.

They had a meal that was a bit like breakfast and a bit like dinner and Dyce took himself off to the communal sleeping quarters to catch up on his sleep. He was sure he would have been welcome in Farkas’s room, and the man himself seemed almost as laid-back about it as Dyce was, but he didn’t want to accidentally overinvest and end up with a boyfriend.

Although if he did want a boyfriend there were definitely worse candidates.

One of whom Farkas was convinced liked him. When Dyce got up in time for a late lunch Vilkas was reasonably polite, presumably because he’d returned Farkas in good condition. But he didn’t have a lot to say and didn’t give the impression Dyce was his favourite person.

And yet, and yet, he did keep looking at him. Not staring, not pointedly, or even coyly.

Dyce decided the mystery was hardly going to be solved in the dining room and he went out to sell the bits and pieces he’d picked up in the tomb and get his armour repaired. He owed Devlin and Vex some trinkets and he wanted a bit of time to think over the events of recent days, and so he left for Riften without notice or word when he might be back.

~~~

It was raining in the forests around Falkreath, water dripping off the pines and making the roadways slippery and treacherous. Vilkas felt the ankle-deep mud tugging at his boots as he ran, ducking as a shower of frozen rain fell like icy needles, bouncing and breaking off his armour and hair.

The dragon rose again, and he lifted his head and watched it circle from his position at the top of a small rise as it screamed at the leaden sky.

He’d been hunting and was on his way back to Whiterun when the dragon had appeared. He’d discarded the furs somewhere further down the gentle slope. The dragon breathed frost, and Vilkas thanked both his hardy Nord constitution and his beast blood that kept him warm in the face of the icy blast. But it didn’t stop the shards of ice tearing at his skin.

It was all he could do to conserve his energy, try and keep out of the way of the dragon’s breath, and wait for it to land again. Then he’d charge in and swing at its armoured head before it took off again. It was slow, exhausting work, and Vilkas feared he was wearing down faster than the dragon.

He began to think less of how he’d kill the beast and more of how he might survive the encounter. The dragon landed, mud flying as it dashed itself into the ground. Vilkas ducked behind a tree as it roared, and then once more, he ran. The tail knocked him sideways, and he skidded, flailing for balance.

“Damn you!” He snarled and struck back, carving a solid chunk of meat out of the dragon’s tail - but that wasn’t going to slow it down. Vilkas shook water out of his eyes, found his feet, and ran at the creature.

It opened its jaws and Vilkas jammed his sword into the roof of its mouth, twisting the Skyforged steel. It was all he could do to keep those long, dagger like teeth from closing over his head, his knees threatening to buckle, his muscles aching with exhaustion. He bared his teeth and snarled, but he choked back the beast; mindless, the dragon would swallow it whole.

It might swallow him anyway. The Whiterun guards had spoken softly of the armour they’d pulled from the dragon’s bones those months ago when one had first attacked the city.

He thought he heard hoofbeats.

The horse galloped closer, and Vilkas put all this strength into trying to push the dragon off. And then the weight of the creature was gone, as it pulled its head back in pain, and he saw an arrow jutting from the side of the creature’s jaw.

And then someone was at his side, and he’d never been so pleased to see the newest Companion. For all his faults, and Vilkas could find many, he could not fault the Breton’s courage, as he struck at the creature. Vilkas landed a blow, and it took to the sky again.

There was no time or breath to waste speaking. Dyce tracked the dragon with his bow, and while his first shot went wild the second one hit, before they were both obliged to run from the dragon’s breath.

But when it landed a short distance away its fate was sealed. Dyce hacked at it and it snapped at him, turning its head from Vilkas, exposing the long, pale underside of its throat. He didn’t hesitate. Mustering all his remaining strength, he sliced through it, hot dragon blood welling and gushing up over his hands, splattering his face. The dragon writhed and Dyce stumbled as its claws clipped him, and then its head hit the ground, twitching.

Vilkas prodded it with the tip of his sword. It didn’t move. He heard Dyce sheath his weapons. What a story this was going to make back at Jorrvaskr. Vilkas was about to turn to Dyce to tell him so when he saw something strange start to happen to the dragon. It’s skin started to peel off, and beneath it was a blinding light.

He stepped back, and realised the entire dragon was starting to glow.

“Shit! Look out!” Vilkas didn’t hesitate. He tackled Dyce out of the way, shielding him with his armour and his larger form. Dyce made a surprised yelp as he landed on the grass. It didn’t make a difference. Vilkas stared as the light streamed from the dragon and into Dyce’s body.

Dyce started laughing. Or he tried to. Still winded from battle, he only managed the most breathless chuckles between gasps for air. Vilkas could hear his leather armour creak as he breathed. He seemed all right. Vilkas felt his own heartbeat begin to slow and he got to his feet, retrieving his sword which he’d dropped in his attempt to save Dyce from, well, there was no hiding it now.

“Dragonborn.”

Dyce groaned and covered his face with his hand for a moment before slowly getting to his feet. It was still raining, and Vilkas turned his face to the sky to wash off the dragon blood.

“Well, now you know. Wolf.”

Vilkas narrowed his eyes, “How do you know about that?”

Dyce told him, concisely and without inflection. “Don’t worry, you keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

Vilkas looked at the smouldering skeleton of the dragon, “I don’t think you can keep this a secret.”

Dyce looked at him, water starting to bead at the ends of his hair. “I know. But I try. This isn’t _me_. It’s something extra that’s just been foisted upon me.” He shook his head helplessly, “And there’s nothing I can do. I can’t stop the souls, I can’t help but read the words.”

He had a look on his face that Vilkas understood. He knew how it felt; the way the skin tightened at the temples, the way it was hard to move your jaw. It was the face of a man who’d forgotten how to cry and wouldn’t let himself even if he remembered.

“There’s no end to it,” Vilkas found himself speaking. “You realise this is the rest of your life. You can’t take a break. You can’t endure because you know it will end. You just endure it because you have to. And you can never escape the fact that it might ruin everything that you value about your life and yourself.”

They stood there, feet apart, talking in the rain, neither taking his eyes off the other.

“I don’t understand why it’s me,” Dyce said. “Or what will happen in the end. How many words are there? I have immortal dragon souls _inside me_. I’m just a man.”

“I can’t trust the others. They are barely tame now, and Kodlak’s getting old. I don’t know if I can control them if I have to. What if I have to kill them? Farkas doesn’t see the danger. I’m glad he doesn’t. He’s not good at worrying; he’d want to fix it, but see no way for it to be fixed.”

“I don’t like fighting dragons. I’m not strong enough to wear thick armour, I can’t call upon magic or anything like that. Every time I see one, I think I’m going to die in its mouth. But I don’t feel I have any choice. I feel trapped. And I have people I don’t really trust telling me they know what’s best for me.”

“It’s like Kodlak and I are the only ones who see this for what it is. And Kodlak has other things he’s working on. Part of me wishes I didn’t regret things so much. That I could just strip down and run with Skjor and Aela. I can’t afford to make a single mistake.”

There was no hiding the truth in this rain. No holding it back.

“Farkas worries about you. He doesn’t think the way you leash your beast is healthy. He asked me to help you. I don’t know how, I had some half-arsed plan to fuck some sense into you. But I don’t know what I’m doing. About anything.”

“I know how you feel.”

And with that, there was nothing more to say.

Dyce heaved a sigh, “Where the fuck did my horse go?”

“I need to collect the furs I dropped, let’s go and look for it.”

“Strictly speaking, it wasn’t entirely mine to start with.”

They plodded on through the rain in silence, and while Dyce’s horse was nowhere to be found, Vilkas found the bundle of furs, not yet ruined by the rain. It was impossible to know exactly what time it was as the sun was hidden behind all the clouds, but the temperature was dropping; it was getting later.

“There’s a hunter’s camp near here in a cave,” Vilkas said.

“Mm.” They’d been talked out.

The cave was currently uninhabited, but the last occupant had thought to leave a pile of firewood, which given the current weather was very lucky indeed. Vilkas tended to his furs, laying them out to dry, while Dyce built up the fire. Vilkas had meat in his pack, and cooked up some venison. Dyce dug around in his pack and produced some potatoes that were only starting to grow and they baked them in the coals, passing the single bottle of mead they had between them back and forth.

When the fire started to die down, they didn’t say a word as they stripped off and crawled into Vilkas’s bedroll. They touched each other for a while, and they got hard, but it wasn’t about that. They both knew it was just an excuse, and shortly Vilkas draped an arm over Dyce’s shoulders and Dyce pressed his stubble against Vilkas’s chest and they went to sleep.

It wasn’t a night to be alone with the truth.

~~~

Dyce woke up slowly. Well, his brain did. Vilkas had his arms wrapped around him, and Dyce draped a leg over the Nord’s hip. He thought he was dreaming at first. One of those dreams that woke him frustrated and warm, but while he was definitely warm, there was nothing much frustrating about the situation he eventually woke to find himself in.

Still sleep-addled, Dyce ground himself against Vilkas’s stomach, and Vilkas’s cock was pressed against his thigh. Dyce groaned and opened his eyes, but there was nothing to see. The fire was out. Dyce opened his mouth and kissed Vilkas’s chest.

“Hmm.” He felt rather than heard the rumble in response. Uncertain as to Vilkas’s opinion on the whole thing, Dyce wriggled up along the Nord’s body, intending to talk to him when he woke up. Instead, when he tilted his head up Vilkas pressed his lips against Dyce’s mouth firmly but slightly off-center as they felt around each other in the dark.

“So do you still want to fuck some sense into me?” Vilkas asked, his voice still thick with sleep.

Dyce rocked his hips against him, “What do you think?”

He felt Vilkas raise his head. “It’s pretty cold out.”

“I’ll get the fire going,” Dyce offered, and to his disappointment Vilkas took him up on the offer. He huddled close to it as he built it up again, and the flames cast flickering shadows on the wall.

“Have you got anything to help?” Vilkas asked.

Dyce winked, “Never venture into the woods without it.”

Vilkas shook his head, “I don’t want to know.”

Dyce saw Vilkas crawl out of the bedroll out of the corner of his eye while he hunted through his pack. When he turned back he nearly dropped the bottle; Vilkas was on his hands and knees, his legs spread slightly and his arse in the air. The sight sent a jolt of heat to Dyce’s cock, which had shrunk from the cold while he was tending to the fire.

Wasn’t so cold in here anymore.

“I take it you’re not really into foreplay.” Dyce said, kneeling down on the end of the bedroll, just appreciating the view.

“You’ve been grinding up against me for what seems like hours,” Vilkas pointed out. “And then you wandered around like an idiot without any clothes on. I really don’t see- ngh.” His balls were hanging invitingly between his legs and Dyce rolled them across his fingers, and squeezed gently.

“You’re like a sculpture,” Dyce said, running his hands along Vilka’s muscled back, over the curve of his arse. It would take a week, he thought, to appreciate him properly. Sadly, they didn’t have a week, and since Vilkas seemed more than comfortable with the whole idea, he oiled them up as fast as was polite.

He wanted that. As fast and hard as Vilkas would let him take it.

Vilkas seemed just as eager. He pressed back against Dyce as he positioned himself. “Come on, it doesn’t hurt. Harder.” Dyce found himself wondering just who was top dog here after all.

As it turned out, Vilkas, so stoic and reserved most of the time, was one of the most demanding lovers Dyce had ever taken. He wanted it harder, and faster, right now. He was not shy about using his considerable strength to push back, practically bucking Dyce off more than once.

Dyce gritted his teeth and held on, his toes digging into the dirt of the cave for purchase, his hair swinging in front of his eyes as he slammed his hips against the warrior’s arse. In an attempt to regain some control, he stretched over Vilkas and grabbed a handful of his long, dark hair, pulling his head back. Vilkas snarled and Dyce felt him clench in excitement.

Fuck, that hadn’t worked. Vilkas’s ‘harder!’ now encompassed pulling on his hair. Dyce was not much of a dom, but there was no dominating Vilkas.

“Please, anything, more,” he cried out hoarsely. Dyce bared his teeth and then curled forward and sunk them in Vilkas’s back. Vilkas roared his approval. It was like fucking a force of nature, and Dyce found himself roaring back, biting and tugging viciously at Vilkas’s hair.

It was such a rush to see the big man flex and shake, and hear him beg and order and they were lost, spit running down Vilkas’s back, and oil down his thighs. And they were lost in each other. Dyce’s stomach muscles protested as he flexed them again and again, uncertain he’d be able to stop.

And Vilkas demanded that he come, begged him to come, and Dyce told him to fuck off and wrenched his head back by his hair and invited him to go first, twisting a nipple hard with his free hand. And they swore at each other and it was almost a mercy to feel it coming to an end, feel his balls tightening, and Vilkas losing coherent speech. He reached around and squeezed the end of Vilkas’s cock and the first splurt of hot, musky seed on his fingers was enough to make Dyce come, his vision darkening.

Or maybe the fire was going out again.

Vilkas rolled onto his back and Dyce flopped down on him, regardless of the mess. His calf was threatening to cramp up and he lay there gasping, trying to ease it back from the brink.

“Thanks,” Vilkas said finally. “I needed that.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Fuck.” Dyce grinned, wide and still slightly disbelieving.

“Farkas was right about you. You’re alright.”

“Huh. You should listen to him more often.” Dyce yawned. “If it means anything, I think the Companions are in good hands. Kodlak’s and yours. If you need my help for anything, you just need to ask.”

“Help? What use is a runty little Breton?” he asked with amusement.

“Oh I see how it is. I’ll get my own bedroll then, shall I?”

Vilkas wrapped his arms around him. “No. Not this time.”


End file.
